


yes i said yes i will yes

by GoldStarGrl



Category: Justified
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, F/F, F/M, Frottage, Grinding, Orgasm Denial, Prison Sex, Spanking, Stripping, Threesome, Vaguely PWP, man glass tables are acting weird tonight, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:47:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23936329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldStarGrl/pseuds/GoldStarGrl
Summary: Set season 3ish. Raylan comes to collect Boyd from prison and bring him home to Ava. He can't help but fall back on some old habits when he does.
Relationships: Ava Crowder/Boyd Crowder/Raylan Givens, Boyd Crowder/Raylan Givens
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from Ulysses by James Joyce, about just, like, being all in on physical and emotional love in many forms. this story is about boyd crowder, what did you expect?

Boyd’s spent more time naked for aggressive men who weren’t smart enough to be mall cops than any woman he’s ever made love to. 

Every time he finishes up in a prison visiting room, he has to strip, let the COs pat him down, check the soles of his bare feet and run hands through his wild hair. If they're feeling particularly vindictive, they snap on the blue gloves and announce a cavity search. 

There are indignities of prison he chafes against more – the harsh limit on the number of books he’s allowed to borrow, when his ankles get chained together for transport – but there is a vulnerability to having someone’s hands all over him while he just has to stand there, still and good, that makes his stomach churn.

Churn, not get nauseous, exactly. Because there’s a part of him that shivers at it, even while he stares straight ahead and pretends it’s not happening.

But of all the cops and sheriffs and prison assholes who’ve performed this fun ritual for perceived penal violations, he’s never had it done by Raylan Givens. 

Then again, this isn’t a normal prison visit.

“It’s been a long time since someone’s had you good, hasn’t it?” Raylan murmurs, hands rubbing his boney hips. He presses a hot kiss to Boyd’s shoulder.

He’s got Boyd pushed up against the concrete wall of the visiting room, full of nothing but empty tables for people to meet their lawyers during daylight hours. Or U.S. Marshals to call in the night to argue about the merits of letting Boyd kill Dickie Bennett or whoever he feels has disrespected the people he loves.

“I think Ava can confirm I have my needs well taken care of.” Boyd braces himself on his elbows. His jumpsuit, typically buttoned high up his neck, is rolled down to his hips. The white t-shirt he wears underneath is sticking to his lower back.

It’s usually not this easy to make him sweat. Raylan’s long, lean body pressed up against his back, cock hard against his ass, is certainly a contribution. 

“Wish she could see you like this,” Raylan, still talking soft, almost sweet. Every syllable drawn out. For the first time, Boyd understands why people from elsewhere find their accent sexy. “Told me to come on down here, get you taken care of since she can’t herself. You fold like this for her?”

The idea of Ava being there, watching Raylan grind into him, makes the hot feeling pooling in his stomach intensify. Boyd presses his forehead against the cold wall. 

“Well now, Raylan,” he laughs, but it comes out a little dry. “That’s private.”

“Mmm,” Raylan says, taking a few steps back. Boyd barely has a moment to feel the absence when his hands are back, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. “I’ve never known you to be shy. Arms up.”

Raylan’s still behind him as he rucks Boyd’s shirt up his back, but Boyd knows he’s not imagining the flinch when he sees the tattoos on his arms, spiky, hateful. It’s been awhile. 

Raylan runs two fingers down his shoulder blade, over the least damning of the bunch.

“Scorpion, huh? Makes me think of that old fairy tale with the turtle.”

“It’s a frog,” Boyd says, as Raylan drops down on his haunches, peeling his jumpsuit the rest of the way down, pushes his plastic sandals off his feet. “In the story. Scorpion asks the frog to take it across the river on his back, swearing up and down it’ll be safe passage. Now, when he stings the frog anyway, dooming them both to a watery grave–” Raylan’s got a fistful of his boxers, yanks them down his legs too. “–scorpion says, _I can’t help it. It’s my nature_.”

Raylan slowly rises, kissing his hip, his back, the top of his spine as he goes. He _tsks_ against Boyd’s hair. “You can't contain your heavy-handed stories to just your mouth?”

Boyd actually laughs, full belly. It echoes in the stone room. “Nah. Got that one when I was in Kuwait. I just thought it looked cool as shit.”

Raylan chuckles too, then grabs his chin and he twists halfway around. He can feel the cotton of Raylan’s button up, the rough denim of his jeans, all rubbing against his skin.

“This ain’t exactly an equal distribution of sartorial rights.”

Raylan rolls his eyes. “Speak English, Boyd.”

Boyd twists his neck further and kisses him roughly, nipping his bottom lip. For someone who prefers living in his life in least three layers of shirts, heavy boots and coats and tight belts, the exposure doesn't feel like a bad thing.

“You gonna stand there all dressed up, or you gonna fuck me like a man?” 

Raylan smiles against his teeth. “Pretty bold for an inmate. Hands on the wall.”

Boyd feels his face get pushed back into place. He hears the snap of Raylan’s belt being whipped off, the buckle clanging against the metal buttons of his jeans. He grabs Boyd’s leg and squeezes hard. 

“Keep those legs together tight,” Raylan murmurs, the damp head of his cock nudges at the tight space between his thighs. 

Boyd doesn’t turn around, but rolls his eyes at the concrete. “Intercrural? Are we nineteen?”

It had been nerve-wracking enough just kissing each other, back then. Groping in the cab of Boyd’s truck while their skin got hot and the windows fogged. They’d both been having sex since the eighth grade, but not with guys. Not with each other. Doing _that_ felt like it would mean something bigger, that they were something they didn’t have the words nor the bravery to name. 

So they kissed, and they jerked each other off, and they pretended they were getting together to drink or go to the gun range in Corbin. Nothing for anybody to pay any mind to.

Until Bowman teased him about it, when their daddy caught him slinking out of the house before Sunday dinner to meet Raylan in the Crowders’ hunting cabin.

“He’s going to see his _boy_ ,” Bowman laughed, meanness flavoring the sound, a hint that turned almost sing-song. “Out again with _Ray-lan_.”

Boyd grabbed a chunk of his brother’s hair and slammed his head against the kitchen cabinet repeatedly until Bo threatened them both with worse if they didn’t simmer down. He slammed out the door, downed three fingers of whiskey, and drove drunk up the mountain. He blew Raylan messy and graceless on the leaf covered cabin floor, before letting him fuck him between his legs and nothing farther, like some girl saving it for prom night. 

They weren’t so nervous about touching, after that. 

“Nah, we’re grown men,” Raylan says, jolting him back to the present. As if to prove it, he shoves his cock in between Boyd’s legs. “And that means I'm wise enough to avoid getting any of your nasty diseases.”

His dick is heavy, already a little slick, though not enough that it doesn’t chafe against Boyd’s skin. Raylan thrusts hard, and Boyd watches his own fingers curl into fists against the wall. “You’re truly a prince among men, Raylan.”

Raylan scrapes his nails along Boyd’s stomach, wrapping his fist around Boyd’s cock and stroking him loosely, once, twice, before pulling back, returning to fucking his legs. His cock is rubbing against the cleft of his ass, brushing against his balls with an infuriating amount of friction. Enough to get Boyd interested, not enough to get him off. Boyd keens forward, tries to push back against Raylan for a better angle.

Raylan just boxes him in between the wall and his warm, solid body. He pins Boyd’s wrists under those big hands. 

“I rescind my last compliment.”

“You pushed me through a _plate glass window_ ,” Raylan says, and smacks his ass, hard and open palmed. Boyd tries to bite down the hiss that rises in his throat at the sting – but not with very much effort. Raylan smiles, continuous his torturously slow rubbing.

“You know why I’m here, right?” He murmurs, his thrusts picking up speed. Boyd dimly wonders if he was hard when he got here. The idea that he could still work Raylan Givens up like this gave him bitter satisfaction. There’s a part of him struck by intense sadness too, a childish reaction to this moment and all that proceeded it. He always thought Raylan and he were both going to end up in here one day, two orange jumpsuits, not one, left staring at each other across the table. 

Boyd shakes this thought, pulls his own hand loose to finishing jerking himself off. His thighs are shaking a little from the effort of keeping them closed. Raylan catches his wrist and puts it back on the wall.

“Stop it. Answer the question, Boyd.”

“Denying me my American right to an orgasm?”

Raylan laughs against his neck, kissing the pulse point, and comes on both their legs. He wraps his arm tight around Boyd’s stomach, rests his chin on his shoulder as he catches his breath. It’s a strange kind of parody, this intimacy. Lovers curled up in bed. Boyd remembers an old joke Raylan used to tell him when they were kids, when he was working out how to flirt. _You know why the Pentecostals don’t have sex standing up? It could lead to dancing._

“How about you keep it together a little bit longer?" He says now. "You’re getting released. I’m bringing you home to Ava.”


	2. Chapter 2

Ava is waiting on her porch when they pull up in Raylan’s car, wearing cotton shorts and the big UK Football t-shirt she sleeps in. Her arm is in its nylon sling, and the sight of it is enough to ignite Boyd’s fury all over again. She smirks when she sees them, though, stands and stubs out her cigarette. 

“You really lose that much weight without my cooking?” She calls as they walk up the front steps.

Raylan laughs. The clothes Boyd got arrested in were lost in the shuffle between county and EKCC, so the staff dispassionately dug up an XL t-shirt and a pair of jeans that still slipped low on his hips even with his belt on the tightest notch.

He feels young in them, and not just because his legs were still sticky with Raylan’s come the entire ride back to Harlan. About twenty minutes from home, Boyd reached over and put his fingers on the back of Raylan’s neck, rubbed the place where his skin ran into his hair. It was getting long.

Raylan didn’t pull away, didn’t say anything. The corner of his mouth quirked up when Boyd told him, voice a little scratchy from dehydration, that he needed a haircut. He didn’t drop his hand until they pulled in the driveway. Playacting at being kids again.

There were good things about being grown, though. Like the gorgeous woman on his front porch, a cigarette in her hand.

“I don’t plan on staying in them for long, baby.” He takes her face in his hands and kisses her, long and deep. It’s only been a few days, but he didn’t get to say goodbye before getting unceremoniously hauled off. He missed her. 

Ava pulls back, runs a thumb across his hairline. “Thought I’d be able to taste him on you.”

Boyd freezes. Raylan leans his back against the bearing post of the porch. “You’d be proud of how white you look right now.”

“Shut up, Raylan,” he murmurs, even as his brain organizes the information it has, redirects from panic to thrill. Ava sent Raylan to get him. She wants this. She knows _he_ wants this, has wanted this since the day Raylan and his white hat and long legs walked back into town.

He can’t believe she almost died. 

“You are Heaven sent.” He kisses her again, one hand in her hair, the other cupping her ass through her shorts. Ava hums into his mouth at the touch.

Raylan whistles through his teeth. “Now, this just ain’t decent. Children live in this town.” 

Ava pulls back, pressing her forehead against Boyd's.

“How about we all go inside, then?” Her voice is low, a little husky. The smoke from her cigarette is still in the air around them. That must be why Boyd feels so dizzy.

“I’m gonna wash up a little,” he manages. 

It takes him a while to get back to the living room. It’s futile to get dressed in his normal getup for an evening like this, but he never feels completely at ease without his button-ups and vests, not even when it’s just him and Ava. Battle armor. He rinses off in the shower and stares at his pocket watch for a full five minutes before just putting on his own jeans and a long-sleeved thermal he finds in the very back of his drawer. 

He takes the stairs down two at a time, so he can convince himself his heart is beating so quickly because of exertion.

Raylan and Ava are sitting side-by-side on the couch, drinking generous glasses of bourbon. She’s not in his lap yet, but they’re getting close, her pale thigh slung on top of his, foot dangling in the space between Raylan’s spread knees. 

“There he is. You ain't getting cold feet, are you?” Ava smiles, and the dim light catches her hair, making her glint gold. Boyd feels his flagging arousal rise again. He can do this.

“Come on now, baby, you know I’m not one for cowardice.” He sits down on the coffee table across from them.

Ava hands him her bourbon anyway, and he loves her, again. He doesn't break eye contact with Raylan while he downs the entire thing. Ava follows suit, and the three of them accidentally lock themselves into a silent starting match.

After a second, Raylan puts his own glass down. 

“Do I have something on my face?” He asks mildly. 

“You ever been with two people at the same time?” Ava asks him, eyebrows raised. Boyd chokes. 

“Once or twice.” His tone makes it clear that he’s being tactful, that the number is actually much higher. And he was giving _Boyd_ shit about VD.

“Ooh la la, how sophisticated,” Ava says, takes both glasses and sets them on the table next to Boyd. The sarcasm leaves her tone as she reaches out and runs her fingers through Raylan’s hair. “How do you get started, then?”

Raylan takes her hand down and presses a kiss to her palm. “Way you always do, I suppose.” Another kiss to the inside of her wrist, a third up her arm. “Just start.”

He wraps an arm around Ava’s waist and hoists her up, pulling her around to straddle him. Boyd can hear them kissing, knows he should probably adjust angles himself if he doesn't want to miss the show. He’s sated for now, though, just watching Raylan’s hands running under Ava's shirt, her knees digging into the couch on either side of his hips.

After a few clumsy misses, she uses her good hand to tug off her t-shirt. She doesn’t have a bra on, and Boyd is greeted by the creamy expanse of her back. He reaches down and palms himself through his jeans. The arousal is sharp, almost painful, from how sensitive the night full of teasing has gotten him. 

Raylan catches his eye over Ava’s shoulder and rears his head back while Ava dips hers forward, kissing his chin, his neck. “Would’ve thought seeing something like this would make you jealous, Boyd. Not all hot and bothered.”

“What, of you with Ava?” He undoes the buttons on his jeans, but doesn't dip his hand all the way under his boxers. He wants to make this last. “Or of Ava with you?”

Raylan jerks his head in a signal for _get over here._ Boyd takes Ava's recently vacated seat on the couch. Raylan’s rubbing her clit through her shorts, his wide, flat hand spanning the space between her legs. Ava’s flushing, her breasts bouncing a little with her movement. “Either way, I'm living rent free in your head."

“This is what happens when someone’s too good looking,” Ava says, almost conversationally, even as she continues to grind against his hand. “You think nobody can get off if it don't involve you.”

“Ava, baby, I don’t think we’re making the best argument to the contrary right now.” Boyd's dick is tenting in his boxers. If he doesn’t come in the next few minutes he might actually die, right on the floor of Bowman’s house with Ava and Raylan standing over him. A poetic sort of symmetry, an ending like that.

Raylan takes his hand out from under Ava, and grabs her hips to still her when she tries to adjust, find friction somewhere else. “What'd you two be getting up to if I wasn’t here, then?” 

Ava slides off into the tight space between the two of them, and pushes Boyd onto his back before he knows what’s happening. The angle is awkward as she kisses him, his legs hanging off the couch. They haven’t had sex since her arm got fucked up, and he worries he’s hurting her as the sling gets pinned between their chests.

He's too hard to focus on such petty concerns for long, though. When his hips start to slip off the narrow cushions, he instinctively wraps his arms around her and they both fall onto the carpet hard, Boyd on his back, Ava on top of Boyd.

“Goddamn it,” he hisses, but she just laughs. “Oh, very amusing for the lady without a bruised tailbone.” 

"I was _shot_ last week!"

“When you’re alone you immediately hurt yourself?” Raylan says, and he’s undone his belt, pulled out his own cock, stroking lazily as he watches them. “You have enemies could use that against you.”

“We are pillars of the community,” Boyd says, as Ava works her way down his body, ridding him of the jeans and boxers that were starting to feel tight and sweaty. “What kind of classless outlaw would draw on a couple making lo–"

Ava swallows his cock and he forgets how to speak English after that, just a babble of sound, hands grabbing for her hair. She lifts her head just for a moment, pulling off him.

“Sit still for me."

So Boyd tries, tries to keep his hips from snapping up, tries to breathe. He looks down at her, the blunt nails on her left hand digging into his legs, breasts pressed against the wooden floor, pretty red lips around his dick.

He thinks about how Raylan’s watching them, watching Ava tasting Boyd just a few minutes after she tasted him. Watching Boyd all laid out and trying to be good. 

He comes in Ava’s mouth faster than he has in a long, long time. Her eyes widen a little but she swallows with more grace than he’d probably manage under the same circumstances. He pulls her up to rest on his chest, kissing her forehead, her mouth before she can wipe off her face. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, sitting up with his back against the bottom of the couch, pulling her into his lap. His hands kept wandering, splaying across her breasts, running light over her nipples. 

“It's alright, it's alright,” she says, still catching her breath. 

Boyd hooks his chin over her shoulder, looks up at Raylan, jerking himself off with a little more focus. “Now, Raylan, I believe you were inconsiderate enough not to finish our Ava off.”

Raylan’s eyelids flutter, and his hips rise a little. Now that Boyd’s clear-eyed after coming, he realizes they’re not a lawman and an inmate right now. They’re just a bunch of fucked up Harlan folks. And they’re in _Boyd’s_ house. 

“Hips up, baby,” he murmurs in Ava’s ear, pulls her shorts and panties down to her knees. His knuckles brush against her clit, her opening, and she’s soaking. “I think Raylan maybe needs to be punished for that oversight, don’t you?”

Ava nods, and she looks like she’s going to laugh again. “It only seems fair.”

“Stop touching yourself, now,” Boyd says sharply, and Raylan lifts his hands in the air like he’s got a gun on him. (This is much more fun than the times that’s happened.) “Ava, honey, that t-shirt feeling stretchy?”

Ava gingerly lifts herself off his lap and grabs her discarded shirt, wrapping it in a knot around Raylan’s wrists. It’s fairly loose, but the message is clear. Raylan takes a deep breath and holds his bound hands a few inches above his crotch, like one touch might take him apart. “Good boy,” she says, and sits back down in Boyd’s lap. 

“Now, where were we?”

His hands aren’t as big as Raylan’s, but they’re calloused from years of manual labor and manual crime. And he knows what Ava likes, pressed hard enough against her clit, moving in little circles for her to get the friction she needs. 

“Look at her, Raylan,” he says. “You don’t get to come until she does.” 

Boyd flexes the heel of his palm to give Ava a few lighter touches, draw it out. Raylan is squirming, valiantly trying to keep his face impassive as his cock grows achingly harder. 

“You’re such a goddamn asshole, Boyd,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Careful,” Ava says, and she’s close, so breathless her words are getting fractured. “You get mouthy, might have to spank you.” She rests the back of her head on Boyd’s shoulder. “Did y’know Mr. Deputy US Marshal here likes that? Smack him around a little, he turns such a pretty pink.”

Raylan says nothing, just grinds his molars. He’s already flushed from arousal, but Boyd clocks his cheeks getting a shade darker. He grins, baring every one of his teeth. 

“I did not. But knowledge is power.” Her presses his thumb hard against Ava’s clit, and she curls around him, clenching and releasing once, twice, shaking a little as she comes down. “God, you’re beautiful. Isn’t she?” 

Raylan nods, and the embarrassment seems to have given way to being vaguely dazed. “You both have your moments." 

Ava unwinds her shirt from Raylan’s hands and puts it back on. Why don’t you stand up?” she tells him. “Put your hands on the arm of the sofa.” Raylan stands, but only to shuck his own clothes. Ava pauses, crouches and licks a long strip up his chest. He shivers, and bends over without protest.

She only smacks his ass a half dozen times – she’s pretty spent herself – but with every impact, Raylan lurches forward a little, eyes getting darker, stoicism slipping a little more. He lets out a hiss with the last hit, and she stops, rubs his ass. He shivers again, cock bobbing. Boyd takes a mental picture of the moment, one he can relish the next time Raylan handcuffs him in downtown Lexington like he’s in charge. 

“Okay, enough of the stick," Ava says, leaning down to kiss him sweetly. Raylan doesn’t take his hands off the couch, but returns it, expression softening. “You want the carrot?”

“What do you have in mind?” Raylan asks. Ava throws a look over her shoulder, and Boyd knows what’s coming before she says it. 

“Back when you and Boyd used to fool around. He says you never actually got down to the main event, did you?”

“Oh, if you’d given us a couple more months...” he says, smirking at Boyd. Boyd doesn’t return it. He doesn’t like to think about that, what was lost. They _didn’t_ get a couple more months, Raylan _left._ The strange sadness pangs in his chest again. 

“Boyd, d'you know who said ' _there's no time like the present'_?" Ava asks, eyes flicking down to Raylan’s leaking cock.

"It’s an ancient proverb. But I believe it first recorded by John Trusler."

"What a wise man," Ava says. 

And then Raylan is inches away, tugging off his stupid thermal, but they’re facing each other this time, he’s moving a little slower. He lifts Boyd's chin with two fingers, forcing eye contact.

Boyd nods. “Yes, he was.”

Raylan lays him down on his back on the coffee table. It creaks, but holds. Boyd isn’t doomed to another injury tonight. “You two got supplies?”

“Yeah,” Ava says softly, backing towards the kitchen, hand already reaching for the third drawer next to the sink. “Yeah, we got everything.”

She doesn’t sit down on the couch once the goddamn condom is found, once Raylan's slicked his fingers up and stetched Boyd out. The entire living room is going to need a serious cleaning. She leans against the wall, watching as Raylan pushes into Boyd, slowly, like it’s the first time. 

(He guesses, in a way, it is).

“Fuck,” Raylan whispers when he bottoms out, and Boyd wraps his legs around his hips. It’s overwhelming, the pressure inside him, the heat and the fullness. But after a moment, it feels good too, even if he’s nowhere near ready to come again. So he just nods in agreement.

Raylan props himself up on his elbows on either side of Boyd’s shoulders and starts to move, the thrusts becoming a little less gentle as he gets his bearings, remembers where he is, who he’s fucking. This off-beat, rough rhythm is theirs, in everything they do. 

Boyd just keeps breathing, watches Ava rubs herself absently as Raylan’s back and pink ass flex as he moves in Boyd, the little gasp as he comes, burying his face against Boyd’s neck. Warm, solid. Raylan Givens. 

“Did you two used to kiss?” 

Raylan lifts his head up, confused for a second, like he thinks someone other than Ava is asking that question. He doesn’t look at her when he catches up, though. He looks straight down at Boyd. 

“Yes,” he says. 

Ava smiles, her expression slipping off to see something far away. “Maybe you should've kept in the habit. Saved us all a lot of trouble.”

Raylan smiles softly, but not with his eyes. They’re still staring down at Boyd, at his lips.

“Do it.” Boyd’s not sure if he says it or Ava does, or if it’s just something he hears in his head, something he feels, that Raylan does too. 

Raylan lowers himself down so they’re chest-to chest, and kisses him, opening his mouth a little so his tongue can slip in, so they can draw each other in deeply, down, down, down, entangled again. Boyd kisses him back, lets his legs fall back onto the table, a hand stroking the side of Raylan’s face. 

Neither one breaks away for a long, long time.

When Raylan finally sits up, he pulls Boyd up too, and the three of them look caught somewhere between laughing, fighting, and running. Ava rubs her eyes.

“You shouldn’t drive back to Lexington tonight,” she decides. Raylan shrugs, picks up his hat off the ground and flips it in his hand, but doesn’t put it on.

“I only had a half glass of bourbon.”

“That is not what she means and you are smart enough to know it.” Boyd feels steadier now. The ache in his soul is duller, too. “Come upstairs and sleep with us. I mean that in the most innocent of connotations. You must be tired. I know we are.” 

The three of them in one bed will be cramped, quickly overheating under the covers. There’s a good chance they wake up in the morning light feeling awkward as all hell. There’s a better chance they’ll be pointing guns at each other before the week is out.

Boyd still can’t think of anything he’d like more.

Raylan glances at the clock. All three of them do the math. He can still make it back to his office for work tomorrow if he drives through the night and goes straight there in his rumbled up clothes, smelling like sex. It’s nothing he hasn’t done before. 

“Sure.” 

Ava goes to the bathroom to find a spare toothbrush. Boyd puts a hand on the small of Raylan’s back and nudges him up the stairs after her.


End file.
